


Separation

by Rynfinity



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki’s sweat sparkles.  Thor’s deeply ashamed to admit, even to himself, how badly he wants to taste it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Odin sends Thor off to college, rather than off to Midgard.  Absence makes the heart grow... towards trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Separation

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Thor tells his brother, meaning every word of it. He reaches a single finger out and – gently, slowly – traces the purple vein running along the back of Loki’s hand. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” He purposefully slurs a little; he’s had a couple of beers, sure, but spread over the course of the evening… by this point he’s not nearly as drunk as he’s working very hard to seem.

Loki’s skin is surprisingly soft. His fingers are long and graceful, and they twitch a little as Thor drags the pad of his own pointer from the bony prominence of his brother’s wrist to just above the knuckles. Loki shivers.

“I wasn’t sure either,” he tells Thor.

For what feels like forever they sit together without speaking, Thor slumped against the arm of his ratty second-hand sofa – the one he and Fandral had found by the curb about a month after school started - and Loki in turn draped against Thor’s side. It’s still warm enough here, even this time of year and this late in the evening, that a light sheen of sweat covers every square millimeter of exposed skin.

His brother shifts to sprawl the width of the sofa with arms outstretched, head thrown back and legs everywhere. Loki’s mouth is slightly open, lips soft-looking and pointy chin aimed towards the ceiling. It’s a graceful, uncalculated pose, one that seems completely natural. Unforced. Purposeless. Even so Thor can’t help but notice that – despite all Loki’s wiggling and resettling – his own fingers are somehow still touching his brother’s arm.

He watches, rapt, as (the heavy silence broken only by the quiet ebb and flow of their breathing) a bead of moisture collects in the hollow at the base of Loki’s neck. At this angle the innermost ends of his brother’s collarbones push up against the skin to frame a perfect little pool. The moon is full and bright. It shines through the window to stripe them both with blue-white bands.

Loki’s sweat sparkles. Thor’s deeply ashamed to admit, even to himself, how badly he wants to taste it.

He hiccups. He lets the motion drag his fingers up and over the bones of Loki’s wrist and deposit them, backs still touching the delicate skin along the underside of Loki’s arm just above the thumb, on the pale, exposed strip of his brother’s taut belly.

Thor badly needs to adjust himself. He doesn’t. Even if he was twice as drunk as he’s _pretending to be_ , which he isn’t (not nearly), that would be too blatant. Too fucking obvious. Instead he leaves his hand where it fell, concentrating on quieting his own breathing. He can feel the beat of Loki’s pulse under his palm.

Not helping.

A hot gust of wind lifts the gauze curtains and ruffles Thor’s hair. He clears his throat, as quietly as he can. “I’ve really missed you,” he chances.

Loki hums.

It’s been months since they last saw each other. Almost the whole semester; next week is the start of reading period and, in two weeks, Thor’s exams will be behind him. They’ve never been apart this long in their lives.

If he’d known how badly the forced separation would hurt him – would hurt _them_ \- he might (he would) have done things differently. He would been more careful to avoid pissing off their father, for starters. Neither one of them is a match for Odin.

“What’s the story with you and Jane,” Loki says while Thor is thinking. His voice is strained.

The question startles Thor. He jumps; his fingers hop closer to his brother’s belly button. “We’re friends,” he answers, quickly. “She’s a grad student. Physics. She’s here on a fellowship.”

“So she’s too smart for you,” Loki says, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a thick line of moonlight. Thor can’t really tell whether or not Loki’s teasing.

Just like he can’t really tell if it’s true.

“She’s not really my type,” he tells (promises) his brother. Loki shifts one leg and Thor’s fingers graze the waistband of his brother’s pants.

Loki gasps.

They both steadfastly pretend nothing of the sort happened.

After a couple of minutes tick by Thor isn’t even sure they’re pretending, actually. Maybe it _didn’t_ happen. His mind may be playing tricks on him. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Not your type,” Loki repeats, flatly, after it’s been almost long enough for Thor to forget having made the comment in the first place.

“Right,” Thor agrees. “She’s not” _you_. (Mock-) drunk or not, he can’t say that last part.

They can’t have that conversation. Not now, not ever.

For starters, Loki’s had too much to drink.

That, and they’re _brothers_.

“Ah.” There’s an edge to Loki’s voice, the same one that used to creep in when he was jealous of the time Thor spent with Sif or with Fandral.

“I’m in _college_ , Loki,” Thor protests, even though his brother isn’t actually arguing. Not out loud. “You aren’t here. At least, you _weren’t_ here. I can’t live like a hermit… I do have to _talk_ to people.”

“Talk,” Loki repeats.

“Yes,” Thor stresses, “talk. To my classmates, to my professors.” He hiccups again. “I’d rather talk to you.”

Loki giggles and shifts to lean against Thor’s side once more. The movement pushes Thor’s fingers up to slide beneath the soft, damp fabric of his brother’s t-shirt. They bump up and over the washboard surface of Loki’s ribs. “I like that,” his brother says, still laughing, and Thor isn’t sure if Loki means the talking or the touching.

He twists towards his brother and takes a deep breath. He can smell the fresh fruit scent of Loki’s shampoo, and the tang of his brother’s sweat. He rests his forehead against Loki’s scalp and inhales deeply. He can all but taste the richness of the wine Loki had been drinking. Unthinkingly, he groans.

His brother turns into the sound. Thor’s lips inadvertently drag across Loki’s cheekbone.

He’s not even quite sure how it happens, but there’s a sharp jolt of static as their lips touch. Thor brings his hand up to cup his brother’s jaw, and then they’re kissing.

Really kissing, like they never, ever have. Like he’s never even admitted to himself he wanted, in the darkest depths of his sick, withered, evil soul.

Thor lets his mouth drop open and Loki surges forward. His brother’s tongue is hot and slippery-rough against his own, strong and insistent. Loki’s teeth are sharp and slick as Thor licks along them.

He can feel something deep within himself breaking. He ignores it. Kisses like this happen once in a lifetime.

He moans against his brother’s lips as Loki sucks gently on his tongue. 

When they pull apart they are both panting, hard. It takes all of Thor’s frayed self-control to stop, even for just a moment. “I- I should tell you,” he admits, because this is every kind of wrong, “I’m not really drunk.”

Loki smiles against Thor’s mouth. “Surprise, surprise,” he says, and now his voice is sharp and clear. “I’m not either.”


End file.
